


The broccoli test

by Residesatshamecentral



Series: Farewell my Conscience [1]
Category: SS-GB (TV)
Genre: Berlin!AU, Hiding incriminating evidence in hat boxes, Huth is not actually in control for once, Interrogation, Mentions of Terrorism, Original Character(s), or freedom fighting depending on your view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 22:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11045508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Residesatshamecentral/pseuds/Residesatshamecentral
Summary: Archer and Huth interrogate a difficult suspect. Shameless shout-outs to the film Sophie Scholl:The final days.'





	The broccoli test

“You need to satisfy me” said Huth.

The girl smiled a smile that conveyed absolutely nothing, that reflected back the menace like a glass wall. Archer folded his arms, glad that the bright light shining into her eyes concealed his expression from the suspect. He had spent his first few months in the SS perfecting an already accomplished poker face, but he had a feeling that this girl had an instinct for weakness. One flicker of emotion and she would, somehow, pounce.

She was not an assuming girl. Black hair, wide-set eyes, a red-painted mouth that seemed to smile naturally. She wore a cheap coat with a second-rate fox-fur collar, and black gloves. On being sat down she had declined to remove them, since, she said brightly, they had no reason to detain her long. So the interrogation had started off, so it had continued. Now, they were still nowhere and Archer was beginning to regret not bringing her back to headquarters. A small office within the theatre was a bad location for this. It was her ground. She felt secure in this environment, her wall of self-confidence unbreakable.

Huth was making no headway and determined not to admit it. “You need to satisfy me” he repeated slowly. He leaned back in his chair, eyes glittering, face spectral in the reflection of the lamp-light. “Do you know what happens to people accused of the activities I have related?”

“Are you going to tell me?” her smile was fixed, unreadable. “I don’t have to worry about it, actually. I have done nothing, and you cannot prove I have done anything or this conversation would be taking a very different turn.”

“I am unsatisfied” said Huth. His voice was the whisper of a snake over rock. “I trust nothing you have told me. I repeat, when did you last see Shuler?”

“You asked me this before. Last Monday.”

“I _did_ ask you before, and you _lied_. What did you talk about _last Monday_?”

“Work. Novels. Friends.”

“Not politics of any kind?”

“I am apolitical.”

“ _Liar_. Your families move in the same circles, share the same views.”

“My family has never influenced my political views.”

“When you last spoke, Shuler gave you nothing?”

“Nothing. What would he give me?”

“I think he gave you the list, Greta, the list you insist does not exist.”

“I told you, he gave me nothing. We have been over this before. And even if you arrest me, you will have to let me go or produce the list. You can’t hold me indefinitely on what you think happened, not even you.”

The silence stretched out. She sat there, unbreakable, staring past the light. Huth was still. Slowly, he reached out and twisted the head of the lamp away from her face. He sat back in his chair.

The girl blinked. Her vision must be thoroughly spotted by now, Archer thought.

“You are a very intelligent girl” said Huth carelessly.

“Thank you.”

Huth smiled and lit a cigarette. He offered her one, which she waved away with a gloved hand. “I meet few intelligent girls” he said. “The SS rarely promotes women, and when we do, they seem determined to prove that they are above female interests. You for instance” he gestured with the hand that held the cigarette “You present yourself differently. You understand clothing as a weapon, and a statement. I saw your dressing room on the way in, so many hats…” he raised his eyes to Archer, cocking an eyebrow.

Hats and hat boxes. Piles of boxes, stacked on each other, against the peeling wall of the dressing room. If she was what they thought she was, she knew as much about false bottoms as Barbara Barga.

“Where is he going?” said the suspect as he left the room. Even now, she sounded only casually interested. Thy might as well be in a cafe together.

“To find what I need” replied Huth, coolly. “Shall we make coffee? He may be a while. You really do have a lot of hats.”


End file.
